


Clockwork Caricature

by coricomile



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Fucking Machines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 14:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're a beautiful woman," Arthur says sincerely. "Unfortunately, beautiful women aren't exactly my thing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clockwork Caricature

“Would you consider us friends?” Ariadne asks. Arthur blinks up at her, eyes unfocused from staring at his laptop screen for too long. The room is dim, but the light of the computer catches in the hollows under his cheeks and the bow of his mouth.

This is the third job they’ve worked together, piggy backing off their success with the Fischer job. They’re hot in demand, even without Cobb, and Ariadne will never have to work an honest day’s work for the rest of her life. It’s nice, she supposes, even though she does miss having a normal social life.

“I suppose,” Arthur says. His tie is on his desk, top button of his dress shirt undone. He’s finally winding down for the night. He’s six websites and a set of rolled up sleeves from calling it quits for the evening. “I have a feeling this is going somewhere.”

“Maybe,” Ariadne admits. Arthur waits patiently, his fingers heading for his left cuff and flipping it over in neat motions. The window of opportunity is closing. “I’ve never slept with anyone.” The words come out in a jumble, tripping up over her tongue. She tips her chin up and dares Arthur to mock her. He blinks at her, instead.

“I’m sorry?” He offers. The right sleeve goes up. There’s a bruise on the inside of his wrist from where Eames had punctured his vein with an IV needle, purple and growing out in spiderwebs over his skin. Ariadne wants to kiss it better until the skin is clear and smooth again.

“I just-“ She pauses and turns her proposition over in her head. “Would you be the first one?” It makes her sound young and makes her feel even younger. Arthur laughs quietly. Ariadne curls into herself.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” Arthur says. It’s not promising, despite the kind words. “Unfortunately, beautiful women aren’t exactly my thing.” It takes a moment for what he’s saying to sink in, and when it does Ariadne feels a hot blush spread over her cheeks. She feels foolish.

“I didn’t know,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I thought- When you kissed me- I shouldn’t have said anything.“

“It’s alright.” Arthur closes the lid of his laptop and reaches for its case. The night’s work is over. One scotch, and then a polite few words to excuse himself. She could set a clock by him. “I could still assist you, if you’d like,” he says, looking up at her thoughtfully.

“How?” Ariadne asks carefully. If he suggests someone to go to, she may just burst into embarrassed flames. Arthur smiles at her cheekily.

“If you’d like to find out, you know which room is mine.”

\---

Somehow, Ariadne finds herself naked, laid out on the soft mattress of Arthur's bed. It might have something to do with the minibar in her own room, or the promise of finally knowing the touch of another person, but she's watching him watch her, anticipation boiling in her blood.

Arthur stands above her, damp from a shower, his pajama pants loose and well loved. He considers her, looking over her like an experiment. She feels vulnerable under his steady gaze, her insides squirming. After what feels like forever, Arthur nods and steps away, rifling through his suitcase.

“A friend made this for me,” he says when he returns. He’s holding a briefcase in his hands, thumbs running over the soft leather. It’s ordinary for Arthur’s taste, and Ariadne stares at it in confusion.

“It’s nice?” She offers. Arthur laughs softly.

“Watch.” He lifts the clasp and opens the case, showing the insides to her like a prize. Nestled in the soft lining is a small motor and a pale blue dildo attached to a crankshaft. A rush of heat settles in Ariadne’s stomach as she watches Arthur’s fingers glide over each piece lovingly.

“Is that-“ Ariadne reaches and touches the dial attached to the motor. It hums under her fingers.

“If you’re interested, I’ll run it for you,” Arthur says idly, already assembling the long arm of it. He’s familiar with it, and the image of him dialing the motor up and down makes Ariadne squirm. She feels warm all over, a throb starting between her legs. Arthur’s used this. He’s willing to share with her.

“Yes,” she says quickly. “Please.”

Arthur drags the nightstand to the foot of the bed and sets the base of the machine on it. He attaches the arm and the motor with small, careful movements. This, Ariadne thinks, is why she chose him over anyone else. Methodical, sharp Arthur. 

Arthur tucks a pillow under her hips and guides her to the edge of the bed, his hands warm and large against her. Her legs fall apart, knees drawn up, and she feels open like she’s never been, entirely at his mercy. It’s equal parts thrilling and embarrassing, and she’s startled when she feels Arthur’s fingers slide down to touch the slick folds of her cunt.

She’s wet, aching as he flicks his fingertips across her clit. He presses a finger into her, clinical and professional, and Ariadne sighs at the touch, canting her hips up into it.

He stretches her gently- an easy flexing of his fingers, soothing her with a gentle crooning when she becomes restless- and pulls away too soon. He wipes his hand on the quilt, turning away from her. Ariadne fists the comforter and tries not to feel bereft without him inside her.

"Tell me if it's too much," Arthur says. “New, small. Keep it, if you like.”

It's strange as Ariadne lifts her hips, as Arthur guides the tip of the dildo to her cunt. He presses the head gently into her with a slick-sounding _pop_. It hurts a little, barely bigger than Arthur's fingers, but she feels so empty inside, the throb between her thighs turning swiftly into an ache.

Arthur turns the crankshaft slowly, the metallic clicks of it echoing in Ariadne's head. The dildo stretches her open as it presses slowly inside, rigid and cool. When it's inside all the way, she can feel the cold metal it's connected to brushing against the inside of her knee, still and waiting for her to adjust.

She feels so full, sweat at her temples and matting her hair to the back of her neck. She wants to move, to roll her hips into the rigid pressure, but Arthur's steady hand on her thigh- hot, dry pressure against her skin keeping her grounded- keeps her still.

"Are you okay?" Arthur asks. Ariadne nods. Yes, yes, _yes_ she is okay. The clicking of gears sends a flutter of want up through her belly and, then, the dildo begins to move.

It moves smoothly in deep, even thrusts. She moans as it pulls out of her slowly, choking on her breath as it thrusts back in. She squirms against it, eyes closing against the liquid white of the ceiling. Sunbright bursts of light go off behind her eyelids as Arthur clicks the dial up two notches.

This is nothing like she's had before. The rhythm is too even, the thrusts deep enough that she thinks she should be able to see the thick head poking up under the soft skin of her belly. There's tingles in her toes and fingers, like they're two steps away from being numb. She gasps as Arthur opens her thighs further.

The heat of Arthur’s hand is intoxicating. Ariadne closes her eyes and lets herself imagine that he’s the one inside her, his lean body folded over her, keeping her close. She's soaking wet, the sound of the dildo pumping into her obscene. She can smell her arousal, earthy and strong, and she wonders if Arthur can smell her, too.

The dial clicks again, and the thrusts speed up. The dildo's barely sliding out of her before ramming back in, the force of it shaking the bed. Ariadne cries out, her legs shaking against Arthur's hands. A wave of pleasure washes over her, head to fingers to toes, and she knows she's close.

Arthur's fingertips rub over her clit roughly, urging her on. Ariadne groans high and long. She feels her cunt tightening around the dildo, the throb there overtaking her. Arthur's thumb presses her clit like a button, and she comes, arching off the bed.

Arthur lets the machine run for a moment longer, until Ariadne starts to shake around it, the friction too strong. She feels like she's been broken apart and taped back together, fragile and open. When the machine clicks off and Arthur guides it gently from her, she curls onto her side, trying to catch her breath.

After the machine's been cleaned and disassembled, Arthur gathers Ariadne's clothes and dresses her like she's a child, his hands gentle as he slides her panties up her legs and coaxes her back into her dress.

"Thank you," Ariadne says sleepily. Arthur smiles and kisses her forehead.

"My pleasure," he says fondly. "Sleep." As he tucks her into the bed- and in the morning, she'll feel embarrassed for kicking him out of his own room- she brings up enough power to ask the question that's been in the back of her mind.

"Who made it?"

Arthur smiles again, something dirty enough to make the low thrum of desire start up in the pit of her stomach again. He brushes her hair away from her damp face and says, "Eames. I'm sure he'll be happy to make another."

Ariadne falls asleep to the sound of Arthur tidying the room and dreams about a machine all her own.


End file.
